


A Four-Star Start

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, GYWO Bingo 2015, Getting Together, M/M, Nightmares, Settings: Hotel room, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil, in a hotel room, the night before a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Four-Star Start

"Flying commercial sucks," Clint Barton said as he and Phil Coulson entered their hotel room.

"At least Hill sprang for business class," Phil said, hanging his garment bag up in the closet. 

"That's because my shoulders don't fit in coach." 

Phil bit back the next two remarks that came to mind about Clint's shoulders, and instead asked, "Do you want to go get something to eat, or would you rather just hit the sack?"

Clint had already thrown himself onto the bed closer to the window. They had an unspoken agreement, born of sharing rooms (and even beds) more times than either of them wanted to think about. Clint got the bed near the window, Phil the one closest to the door.

Their flight had been delayed two and a half hours after boarding, so it was almost 10 p.m. Clint threw his arm across his face and frowned. 

"Fuck it, I'll have a big breakfast. The meet is at, what? 8:30 in the morning? What fucking criminal organization gets up that early?"

Phil just shrugged. It was a milk run of a job, and they both knew it. Phil was meeting some criminal lowlife who claimed to have valuable intel about Hydra assassins, and Clint was backing him up. With his bow, from somewhere up high.

"I'm going to grab a quick shower," Phil said, stripping off his jacket and tie. "Sitting on planes makes me feel grimy."

"Yeah, okay. If I'm asleep when you get out, don't wake me."

Clint was indeed asleep when Phil got out of the shower, feeling no more awake but slightly more human. Clint had peeled off his pants and shirt, but hadn't made it under the covers. Phil allowed himself sixty seconds of rapt appreciation of Clint's body, clad only in tight boxer briefs, and then covered him up with a spare blanket. The temptation to brush a light kiss on his forehead was strong, and he could have gotten away with it. They were easy and familiar enough with each other these days that he could brush it off as a joke; he'd done it before. But he didn't want to risk waking Clint, so he just climbed into his own bed and switched out the lights. Telling himself for the hundredth time that he had to figure out some way to get over these ridiculous... feelings he had for Clint Barton.

~~~~~~

_He was choking on the smell of gunpowder, dust, and the taste of his own blood. He couldn't move his legs. Around him the screams of dying men. Men he couldn't save. "Coulson!" His Lieutenant was yelling his name, "Coulson!" He couldn't move. "I'm sorry sir," he tried to say, but he couldn't speak, either. The world was going black. He couldn't see. He couldn't see. "Phil!"_

The light snapped on, and Clint's face was inches away from his own.

"You were having a nightmare. You're okay. You're safe. We're in a hotel room in Prague. We're on a mission. It's okay."

Phil dragged in big lungfuls of air, waiting for the panic to subside. "Thanks," he managed after a few deep breaths. He looked at Clint, face showing his concern, and felt a familiar pang of longing. It displaced the lingering impressions of the dream and he rolled onto his back.

"I'm okay, Clint. Thank you."

"Okay, well I'm gonna stay here for a minute if that's all right with you," Clint said, perching on the edge of the bed. Phil automatically moved over to make more room. "Do you want a glass of water or something?" Phil shook his head, a tendril of embarrassment starting to creep into his gut. He quashed it. It was a nightmare. They all had nightmares. 

"That, ah, doesn't usually happen to you. When we're on a mission, I mean."

Phil nodded. It was true. "Don't usually sleep deeply enough, when we're on a mission. Maybe my subconscious knows this one doesn't really start until tomorrow."

"Or that it's a milk run." Clint said. 

Phil gave him a sharp look at that. "We don't know that. It could be a set up or -"

"Yeah, boss, I know. Sorry." Clint laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'll be as careful as always, and I'll have your back. You know that, right?"

There was actual doubt in Clint voice, as if he was afraid that Phil's nightmare had had something to do with feeling unsafe. Phil thought that it was likely the exact opposite. That he'd been sleeping deeply enough to dream because these days he spent more nights in a hotel room with Clint than he did in his own bed. And felt more comfortable with Clint in the room than he did when he was alone.

"I know you will, Clint," he said, looking up into Clint's eyes and letting all the sincerity he felt show in his face. "I trust you."

"Good." Clint gave his shoulder a squeeze then moved his hand away. Phil pressed his lips together to stop himself from objecting. Instead, he sat up in bed, propping himself against the pillows. 

"Will you be able to sleep if I've got the TV on low? I usually I can't get back to sleep right away, and I didn't bring a book."

Clint opened his mouth to answer, but his stomach interrupted him, giving an embarrassingly loud rumble.

"You know what? I'm gonna run downstairs real quick and get us a couple of candy bars from the vending machine in the lobby. Then we can watch bad porn on the pay-per-view," Clint said while pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt and stuffing his feet into his boots. "You, ah, you gonna be okay while I do that?"

"I'll be fine, Clint. Thank you." Phil's stomach rumbled in concert with Clint's. "And apparently my stomach thanks you, too."

"Cool. Back in a jif."

Phil sank back against the pillows, grabbed the remote from the bedside table, and thumbed it on. He had better find something vaguely interesting on TV before Clint got back, because he really didn't want to end up actually watching porn with him, even if Eastern European porn did have a reputation for being... artistic. He clicked through the channels, looking for something that he didn't mind and Clint might enjoy. He grimaced through the usual 1 a.m. fare, made all the more odd by their locale. There were a larger-than-usual number of political round-tables featuring professorial types drinking coffee and arguing economic policy. There were incomprehensible Australian soap operas and bizarre British comedies. There were three sci-fi channels, each playing one of the Star Trek series, and five music channels, all playing heavy metal. In despair he stopped on a channel whose logo read "ClassiK-TeeVee" hoping for... well, anything, really, then smiled widely when he recognized a crowded squad room and Michael Conrad's voice. 

'I'll just watch the opening teaser,' he thought to himself, sitting rapt and mouthing the words "Let's be careful out there," along with the actor. He remembered this episode. It was a good one. 'Maybe Clint won't mind it,' he thought, and settled in to watch at least until the first commercial break. 

After which he realized that Clint had been gone almost fifteen minutes, which was a lot longer than it took to get candy bars from the hotel lobby. Just as he was about to climb out of bed and put his pants on, he heard Clint's signature 'rat-a-tat-tat,' and his voice calling "Howling Commandos" through the door.

Clint thought it was amusing to use various bits of Captain America trivia as passwords and identification. It had annoyed Phil at first; he'd been bullied enough as a child to not enjoy being teased about something that was important to him. But he came to realize that Clint was doing it out of affection. It was his odd way of trying to share one of Phil's interests. And after that time Clint had tapped out Steve Rogers' army serial number in Morse code to signal that he was in trouble, well, Phil just smiled.

Having announced his presence, Clint let himself into the room with his card-key. Phil wasn't very surprised to see him carrying a large grocery bag. 

"What'cha watching?" Clint asked, kicking off his boots and settling on the bed next to Phil with a bounce. 

"A cop show I used to watch when I was a teen-ager. We can find something else..."

"No, this is cool, if it's what you want to watch. So, the vending machine in the lobby was a bust. It was out of order, and the guy at the desk had no idea when it was going to be fixed, so he gave me directions to a 24-hour convenience store. Which there aren't too many of; apparently people sleep at night in Prague. Anyway, it was great, though, because it had a bit of everything. I didn't know what you'd want, so here."

Clint spilled out the contents of the bag on the bed, grabbing for two containers of Häagen-Dazs. "Here, this one's yours," he said, handing over a pint of 'Strawberry Cheesecake' and settling the container of 'Cookies and Cream' between his folded legs. "There should be spoons somewhere... here." Clint dropped a plastic spoon next to Phil's knee as he looked up at the TV screen, where sirens were wailing and a car chase had just begun. He watched rapt as Patrolmen Andy Renko and Bobby Hill sassed their way through a high speed chase, and grinned at Renko's line "Well, choke my chicken, Bobby!"

"You watched this when you were a kid?"

"Teenager. I would have been sixteen or seventeen, I guess. I loved this show. Wait 'till you see Belker." Phil grinned as he peeled the cover off his ice cream and dug in. This was actually really nice, sitting here, eating ice cream and sharing something from his childhood with Clint. He'd have to invite Clint over to his place for pizza and movie night more often, he thought.

They watched the rest of the episode. When Clint finished his ice cream he opened a couple of packages of roast nuts. There were bags of chips, as well, and the candy bars he'd originally wanted: Hershey's and Dairy Milk. Clint had obviously grabbed some of everything he recognized. The episode of Hill Street Blues ended and Knight Rider came on. Clint laughed at David Hasslehoff's hair but was impressed by the talking car.

Phil woke up in the dark. There was a warm, heavy presence next to him which he quickly identified as Clint. He must have fallen asleep, and Clint must have turned the TV and the lights off before falling asleep himself. Next to Phil. 

He lay there, silent and still, wondering if he could get away with shifting closer to the warm body beside him. It wasn't fair, or right, to take advantage like that. And it was probably bad for his own emotional well-being. But having Clint here, sleeping next to him...

"You okay, Phil? You need me to turn the light on?" Something, probably his own wakefulness, had woken Clint. Phil had a soldier's ability to fall asleep anywhere and wake at the slightest sound, but Clint was in a class of his own. He slept. Phil had seen him more times than he could count, dead to the world and snoring, even, but the slightest change in... air currents or something, would wake him, and he'd be almost instantly alert. Phil's heart ached for the life Clint had led that had trained him to do that.

"No, no, it's fine. 

"I should probably go back to my own bed. Stop crowding you." Clint said, but he didn't move.

"We've slept far more crowded than this." Phil said, not wanting to ask Clint to stay, but giving him an excuse to.

"We have," Clint said, and even though he could barely see, Phil knew he was smiling into the darkness. "Remember the op in Barcelona?"

"Yeah." Phil was quiet for a minute. "Thanks, for before; the food and everything."

"I..." There was a pause. "You're welcome." Clint said.

"What were you going to say?" Phil asked. The darkness was making him bold.

"I... I'll always be there for you, Phil, always. You know that, right?"

"Yes. I do."

"Good." Clint said. "Good."

Phil desperately wanted to find the perfect words, the ones that would bridge the gap between them. Because he was pretty sure, now, finally, that it was a small one. That Clint's presence, asleep beside him when his own bed was two feet away, wasn't just laziness. Clint cared for him deeply, he'd known that for a while. But until now he'd refused to let himself believe that it might be more. 

"Clint," Phil said into the dark, and moved one hand. They were lying face to face, that much he could see from the dim light seeping in from the windows. He put his hand where he figured Clint's side would be, and it was, except... Clint's t-shirt had ridden up in his sleep, so instead of feeling soft cotton under his fingers, Phil encountered warm skin. 

"I want you to know that that means a great deal to me."

"Phil..." Clint's voice was low and rough. "Phil, I..." 

Phil Coulson never knew which one of them moved first, slowly, in the darkness. 

"Phil." Clint's voice was a whispered breath by his ear, his lips brushing the skin of Phil's cheek. Phil slid his hand up Clint's flank to the sound of a hitching breath.

"I..." Phil needed to say it. Clint deserved to hear it, and maybe he owed it to himself to finally speak the words out loud. "I want this," he whispered, his throat tight.

Clint's hand found his arm under the covers and closed around it. Clint pulled back, just enough so that they could see each other's faces. Phil's eyes had adjusted to the dark, now, and he could see Clint's expression, hopeful and a little shy.

"Phil, I... I haven't done much with guys. But I want to, with you. I really, really want to." The hand around his arm squeezed a little more tightly as if Clint was afraid that his admission would make Phil pull away.

Phil blinked. Clint flirted openly and often with everyone. The idea that he was inexperienced in any way was a surprise. "As long as you're sure," Phil said.

"I'm sure. Very sure. I care about you so much. I've wanted this for a while. I never thought you'd - "

"Feel the same way?"

"No. No, I see the way you look at me. I knew there was something there. I just never thought you'd... let yourself."

"Life's too short," Phil said, remembering his nightmare, the dead men lying around him.

"Yeah. Can I kiss you?"

"I'd like that very much."

Clint leaned in slowly, and Phil felt warm, soft lips meet his. He slid his hand to Clint's back, carefully urging him closer. He'd always imagined this moment as fast and frantic, or rough-and-tumble on an adrenaline high after a mission, finally saying "Fuck it," and grabbing Clint by the t-shirt and mashing their lips together.

This was better. So much better. Careful and slow and wonderful. Clint's hand slid from his arm to his shoulder, and from his shoulder to his neck, cupping it warmly. Those long, strong fingers stroking his skin felt incredible, and Phil had to remind himself to take things slow. 

But Clint's tongue was teasing his lips apart, and he couldn’t help the quiet groan as he opened his mouth and tasted Clint's. They were chest to chest, now, and Phil was regretting the t-shirt he had worn to bed, wanting to feel more of Clint's warm skin against his own.

On the other hand, it was probably a good thing that he was wearing sleep pants, and Clint had never bothered to take his jeans back off after his trip out to the store, because he didn't need to be fighting that temptation as well. Not when he had his arms full of a Clint who was kissing him deeply and passionately, and making little noises of enjoyment while he did. 

When it all got to be too much, Phil pulled back, panting a little, and smiled.

"We should probably get some more sleep. We have a mission tomorrow, early," he said.

"Yeah. Right. This is okay though? Us? We can, after we get back, we can, uh, continue... this?"

"Yes," Phil said, rubbing his thumb along one of Clint's ribs. "We can go out, on dates, I mean, or just spend time together, whatever works."

"Spending time together sounds good."

"Good." Phil smiled, and couldn't help but lean in to kiss Clint again, softly.

"Kissing you is amazing," Clint said when Phil pulled back. "I bet everything else is gonna be, too."

"We'll take it slow," Phil said, still a little worried.

"Phil, I am absolutely, 100% sure that I'm bi. Have been for a long time. Girls were just... less complicated. Just because I haven't done it, doesn't mean I haven't fantasized about it, and watched a buttload of gay porn. I am very much looking forward to learning how to suck your cock."

And that was the Clint that Phil knew and loved. Cocky and maddeningly adorable at the same time. Phil laughed, and Clint grinned at him.

"Okay. But for now, sleep."

"Yeah. Is it, uh, I mean, would it be okay if I stayed here? Instead of going back to my own bed, I mean. Not to do anything, just to sleep."

"I'd like that," Phil said, warmth blooming in his chest.

"Great." Clint rolled onto his back and squirmed out of his jeans under the sheets, then pulled his t-shirt over his head and dropped both on the floor beside the bed. Then he lay back down.

'What the fuck,' thought Phil, and pulled off his own t-shirt, though he kept his sleep pants on, because he wasn't wearing anything under them. He lay back and opened his arms.

"C'mere."

Clint smiled a wide brilliant smile and snuggled into his arms.

"Good night Phil." Clint said, settling his head onto Phil's shoulder with a contented sigh.

"Good night."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my wonderful beta-reader [tinzelda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda).
> 
> Follow my writing on tumblr at: [Jo Mathieson](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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